by Peter Cocks
“Nip in and see me on Monday morning. Let me know how you got on.” Tony sounded like a kind uncle again. “We could do with a quick catch-up.”
“I’m supposed to be at college.”
“Hospital appointment.”
“What shall I say is wrong with me?”
“Make something up,” Tony said. “Dose of clap, maybe? Genital warts?” He laughed gruffly. I was a bit embarrassed, and he sensed it over the phone.
“Sorry, Eddie.” He coughed. “Asthma clinic maybe?”
“OK, Tony,” I wheezed. “See you Monday.”
EIGHTEEN
Sunday was beginning to drag as much as Saturday had. I’d got up at ten and made myself a bacon sarnie, then started to get antsy again. I listened to some more of Steve’s recordings and they scared me, so I watched some comedy on YouTube for a bit, then went for a walk along the riverfront.
I cut up past an old church towards Creek Road. It was called St Nicholas’s and had an ancient, crumbling gateway with two worn stone skull and crossbones mounted on the gateposts. Maybe it was a pirates’ cemetery, or just a grim reminder of what was in store for us all.
I was feeling shaky and paranoid, like I was being watched, though I was sure I wasn’t. I took deep breaths to calm myself down. All I was doing was meeting a good-looking girl in a park. Get over it, Eddie, I told myself.
I walked up past the market. One or two places were open. Deptford High Street is a real mix: African shops, selling everything from coconut milk to dried mudfish, sit next to white-painted art galleries showing pictures by local artists. I bought a paper and sat outside a Portuguese caff that did good coffee. I had a small custard tart as well and tried to read the headlines, but I kept reading the same sentence over and over again. The caffeine hit was only making me jumpier, so I left the rest of the coffee and continued on to Greenwich.
At ten to four, I started to make my way up the hill to the top of the park. I panted up towards the statue of General Wolfe, who looked out over the National Maritime Museum and across the river to Docklands. Five minutes later I joined the gaggle of tourists and Sunday walkers gathered around the foot of the statue, admiring the view. Ten minutes after that I was still circling the base, beginning to doubt I was in the right place.
I checked my watch: 4.25 p.m. It was going to be a no-show, I was sure. I looked at my phone. No messages. I wasn’t going to send one either: that would have been too sad and needy.
Then I saw her. A green-and-cream Mini screeched into a parking space and Sophie got out. Tall and blonde, she looked like a model. As she ran across the car park, tight jeans, leather jacket, swinging ponytail, heads turned. She was running. In a hurry. To see me.
I took a deep breath. Be confident, I thought. Be Eddie. Relax.
“I’m really sorry,” she said, breathless. “I couldn’t get away, then there was a load of traffic and roadworks up the A20.”
“No worries,” I lied. “I haven’t been here long myself. Shall we walk?”
We strolled along towards the flower gardens. The sun was shining and everything was beginning to look golden as autumn approached.
“So d’you live near here?” I asked.
“Not really, we’re down just inside the M25,” she said. “Country. You?”
“I’ve got a flat in Deptford,” I told her.
“With your parents?”
“They passed away,” I said, pleased at how easily my cover came to me. It had an effect on Sophie. Her features visibly softened.
“I’m really sorry. That must be tough.”
I nodded. My lips set tight as if holding in emotion.
“Have they been … I mean, passed away long?” She looked genuinely sympathetic. I might have found my way in, I thought cynically.
“A couple of years,” I said. “Cancer. Dad first, then Mum not long after. Unlucky, eh?”
“My dad says you don’t really grow up until you lose your parents. He lost his early too.”
A mention of her old man on our first date. Real progress, I thought. I chanced a question.
“How did he get over it? Throw himself into work?”
“Sort of,” she said. “He’s always worked hard.”
Going well. I pushed it one step further.
“What sort of work does he do?” I saw her stiffen immediately. She looked at me sideways, stared at me strangely.
“You mean you don’t know?”
I shook my head. Tried to look as innocent as I could.
“He’s a businessman,” she explained. “Self-employed. But people say all sorts of things about him. They’re jealous of his success.”
“Often happens,” I managed, uncertain how to respond.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” she said.
I sensed that the subject stopped there and didn’t push it any further. We came to a kiosk.
“Fancy an ice cream?” I said, smiling.
She grinned back at me. Perfect white teeth. My heart lurched.
“I had a massive lunch a few hours ago,” she said, rubbing her stomach. She weighed it up. “But, yeah, why not?”
“I like a girl with a good appetite,” I said.
“Do they have pistachio?”
“Flake as well?”
She nodded and we both laughed.
“Crushed nuts?” I added, pushing it.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” she said, and let out a peal of earthy laughter.
NINETEEN
I walked through the guitar shop and up the back stairs towards Tony’s office.
Anna was there in the Sugacubes reception.
“Hello, handsome,” she said. I felt myself blush. Last time I’d seen her was during my induction, and things had moved so fast since.
“Hi,” I replied. “How are you?” She got up and leant over her desk, kissed my cheek and squeezed my arm.
“Busy. How are you getting on?” I remembered my date with Sophie. It had gone pretty well, I think. The ice had certainly been broken and, once she’d warmed up a bit, we had a laugh. She actually had a pretty down-to-earth sense of humour, which was great to find in a girl who looked that good.
“Yeah, OK.” I scratched my head. “It’s all a bit new.” I felt slightly uncomfortable. After all, the last time I’d seen Anna she hadn’t had any clothes on. “Look, about the other night…” I began. But Anna just smiled and put a finger to her lips.
At that moment the door opened and Tony Morris came out of his office. “Ah, Eddie Savage Esquire,” he said. “You’ve met Anna?”
I nodded. “We met when I first came here. And then again on my induction week.”
Anna winked at me and sat down, went back to her screen.
Tony ushered me through to his office.
“Tea?” he asked. I looked at the mess of unwashed mugs and dried-out teabags and politely refused. “Something going on out there?” he asked, gesturing back towards the reception area.
“No,” I lied.
“Well, if you’re sure.” Tony scratched his stubble. “Just thought I detected a bit of an … atmosphere?”
I shrugged. “She is pretty fit,” I admitted.
“Hm. I had noticed. But don’t get involved, Eddie.” Tony waggled his little finger in his ear then inspected it. “Not with her, anyway. She takes no prisoners.”
I told him I wouldn’t, keeping my fingers crossed behind my back. Tony delved deeper in his ear.
“And don’t get involved with anyone else, for that matter. Keep it professional.”
I nodded, feeling guilty on all counts.
“So. Sophie Kelly?”
I drew a deep breath. “Well, I met up with her yesterday in Greenwich Park.”
“You got on pretty well, it seems.” Tony pushed a ten-by-eight black-and-white photo across his desk. I picked it up. It was blurry, taken on a telephoto lens, but it was definitely me and Sophie. Walking along in the park, chatting and smiling. The body language was
obvious too. At the time I had felt that we were walking along some distance apart, but in the photo we looked close, like boyfriend and girlfriend.
“I thought you said Ian wouldn’t put anyone on my tail?”
“I know, I said not to, but he insisted. He thinks it’s too early not to keep an eye on you.”
So I was being watched. My instinct had been right.
“Listen, Tony,” I said. “It’s hard enough not to feel self-conscious doing this at all. But if I think I’ve got a camera up my arse every time I step outside, I’ll feel even more paranoid.”
“It’s a safety net,” said Tony. “You’ll get used to it. Now, what did you find out?”
“Not much. They live just inside the M25 somewhere off the A20, so I’m guessing down towards Brands Hatch or somewhere like that. She says her dad’s a businessman and that people say all sorts of stuff about him that isn’t true.”
Tony smiled to himself. I didn’t know how much he already knew.
“She’s a crap timekeeper.”
“Crap, or playing hard to get?” he asked.
“Bit of each maybe. She’s also got a sympathetic side, warm. She doesn’t worry about what she eats, which is pretty healthy, I think. I can’t stand girls who whinge about diets all the time.”
“Maybe she’s got a fast metabolism,” Tony said. “She’s in good shape.”
I nodded, agreeing with his assessment.
“And she’s actually quite a laugh, once you get her away from that bunch of witches that form a protective cordon around her.”
“Excellent,” Tony said. “I’d say you’ve found out quite a lot about our Miss Kelly. You’ve watched and listened and made some reasonable deductions. She’s even talked to you about her old man. Good sign. Shows she trusts you.”
“You think so?”
“I do,” he said. “Keep it up at this pace. Leave it a few days and ask if she wants to go out again. Looks like you didn’t make a complete Horlicks of your first outing, so it should be OK.”
“Cheers.” I grinned.
“Anything else?” Tony tilted his head back. Looked at me through narrowed eyes. “You holding something back?”
Tony must be some kind of mind-reader, I thought. Could he detect that I was already taking more than a strictly professional interest in Sophie Kelly? But that wasn’t it. My mind was filled with what I’d heard on Steve’s debrief. The fear had been chewing away at me. Tony kept looking at me.
“That memory stick,” I said finally. “Steve’s voice. It freaked me out a bit.”
“Hm.” Tony considered a moment. “I wondered if it might. I wanted you to listen to it so that you know what the work is about. Perhaps you should stop.”
“That’s the thing, Tony,” I said. “I can’t.”
Tony had hit the nail on the head. Since my first night at the flat, I had played and replayed the voice clips each night. To begin with it was just to hear my brother’s voice, but then I became obsessed with listening to the reports of how he was getting deeper undercover, into more and more jeopardy. How he had come back to London from Ireland, made some contacts with Paul’s associates, and met with them in South London dives and clubs. Then bugged them. Was this what I was getting into?
“They scare me, Tony,” I said. “But I keep going back to them.”
“Do you want me to take them away?”
“No, I needed to know what Steve was up to. But I won’t listen to them any more.”
“They’re a mixed blessing, but I don’t want you to be ignorant of the risks involved,” Tony said. “You’re right, though, don’t shit yourself up. It’s not productive. Stash them away somewhere safe.”
“Why was Steve in Ireland?” I asked. I couldn’t let it go just yet. “Wasn’t the army over there?”
“They were,” Tony confirmed. “But army intelligence tended to stick out like a sore thumb. The IRA knew everyone and everything. We needed more of a maverick operator, with a deeper cover. Someone a bit left of field.”
“Like a mature student?”
“Exactly,” said Tony. “Chemistry faculties are always good places to contact potential terrorists, meet overseas students. Great places to learn how to make bombs. And Steve was good with explosives.”
“Right,” I said. “Wasn’t all the trouble about religion and stuff … Catholics and Protestants?”
“Originally, yes, but more recently the organizations over there have become less interested in religion and more like fronts for organized crime: drugs, gun-running, protection. The big stuff. Steve got right into the thick of it.”
“So that’s where your lot come in?”
“Exactly,” Tony said. “Not so much because we’re interested in the politics – although that’s part of it – but more because once the crime gets to that scale, it tends to link up. Steve was a genius at uncovering those links.”
“With what?” I asked. I didn’t really get it.
“With other crime organizations; anyone else who’s interested in drugs, guns, bombs.”
“Terrorists?”
“Yes, terrorists.” Tony took a glug of tea. “But also mafia: Russians, Italians … our own home-grown mobsters and their bent mates on the Costa del Crime. The thing about crime is that it all links up. The junkie who shoplifts to feed his habit is all part of the same game as the City fraudster and the Bolivian drug baron. And any intelligence we can get at any level is all useful.”
“Including making friends with Sophie Kelly?”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “From little acorns…”
“But I’m not getting into heavy stuff like Steve, am I?”
Tony suddenly found the polystyrene tiles on his ceiling interesting.
“No, no,” he said. “Light duties. Different area.”
“Got to start somewhere, I suppose.”
“Exactly.” Tony got up from his chair and squeezed my shoulder. “You’re doing good. Keep it up and try not to worry too much about what Steve did. We’re your safety net; you have back-up. Steve tended to walk the tightrope without a net. And it’s a long way to fall.”
“Thanks, Tony,” I said.
But I didn’t feel reassured. I just couldn’t shake the image of my brother spinning and tumbling, falling through the air to his death.
TWENTY
I wasn’t popular with the rest of the girls. News of Sophie’s “date”, innocent as it was, had put their noses right out of joint. Anita and her friend Nazeem could barely look at me the following morning, as if I had taken what was rightfully theirs.
All I’d done was buy her an ice cream.
When Sophie did eventually turn up, she gave me a cheery “Hi” as she crossed the yard to join her friends, casting the odd glance in my direction, keeping it discreet.
Benjy French was beside himself. Apparently one of Sophie’s friends had told one of his mates that we’d gone on a date. Of course, the story had become exaggerated, starting with cocktails at the Met Bar, followed by dinner at the Ritz, a show and then a late night at Stringfellows. Or some such bollocks.
I put Benjy straight.
“We just went for a walk in the park,” I told him. “End of.”
“That it?” Benjy said. “Didn’t you snog her? Put your hand up her shirt?”
I dead-armed him.
“What, and get chucked off a multi-storey, you perv?” He writhed, rubbing his arm to restore feeling. “No, I didn’t.”
“Fair enough. No hard feelings.” He gave me another cheeky glance – couldn’t resist the joke. “Or were there?”
I dead-armed him again.
My next date with Sophie was arranged by text. Just between the two of us, without go-betweens. I felt that I’d scored an important point.
She agreed to go to a movie. Neither of us was too concerned about what to see. On offer was an action movie, a chick flick and an American comedy with Steve Carell. So we settled for the comedy.
Sophie picked me up at
Deptford Bridge DLR station, almost punctual this time, and we drove down to Greenwich. I felt bad as I fixed the magnetic tracker to the underside of the passenger seat without Sophie suspecting a thing, but it had to be done. It had been drummed into me as standard procedure.
We’d arranged to go an hour early to get something to eat, and decided on pizza. We both chose the same one, Fiorentina, with spinach and an egg on top, so I changed my mind and ordered an Americano with pepperoni so we could have half and half. And a glass of house red. The waiter was Italian and was all over Sophie. She thought it was funny as he waved his big pepper pot around, until I started to get a bit humpy and he got the hint and went away.
“Easy, tiger.” Sophie smiled.
“Sorry,” I said. “He was getting on my tits waving that thing around.”
“Actually, I think it was mine he was trying to get on,” Sophie joked, and we both giggled.
I offered to pay – I had a decent allowance to cover my expenses – but Sophie insisted we went halves.
I tried to concentrate on the film, but the close proximity of Sophie made it difficult. I could almost feel an energy coming from her, and every time she moved, I got a whiff of a faint, clean-smelling perfume. There was something quite physical about her: animal. Once or twice as she moved, her arm or leg brushed mine and my concentration went completely as I got butterflies in my stomach and my breath started to come in short bursts. It was all I could do to keep my hands off her.
Sophie didn’t seem to have quite the same difficulty focusing on the film, and she laughed out loud at some of the gags. At one point she turned to me and grabbed my arm, asking me whether I found it as funny as she did.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s a scream.” She left her arm resting on mine and it was an easy progression from there to holding hands, which we did through the rest of the film. I don’t remember much about the ending; I just remember the dry warmth of Sophie’s hand. I remember trying to detect any change in pressure, any small signal that I might read as encouragement. I made no further move.
Don’t rush it, I thought.
Afterwards, she offered me a lift. I couldn’t let her see the flat, so I refused. Said I’d be fine walking back along the river. Sophie seemed a little disappointed and asked me to see her back to the car anyway. We walked through the backstreets that ran down to the park until we found the Mini, parked in the shadow between two streetlights.