by Pamela Evans
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Mick. ‘You can’t travel on your own at night.’
‘You’d better drive her back to London, Mick,’ said Patsy. ‘If she really wants to go.’
He glanced at her in surprise and her warning look told him to do as she suggested.
‘Okay, Pip,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you back as soon as you like.’
Back at the flat, while Pip was packing her things, Mick asked Patsy why she’d not tried to persuade the girl to stay so that he could try to put things right.
‘Because you’ll only drive her further away if you try to win her over by making excuses for what you’ve done.’
‘What else can I do?’
‘She’s going to have to accept you as you are and not how she thinks you ought to be, and she needs time to do that.’
‘There must be some other way . . .’
‘No, Mick. There isn’t.’ Patsy was adamant. ‘This is one situation you can’t talk your way out of. You didn’t go back to your family when you should have and you lied about it to Jane. That was wrong and it’s time you admitted it to yourself.’
‘But surely you can understand why I didn’t go back?’
‘Yes, I understand why, but that doesn’t make it right,’ she said. ‘You can’t expect a twelve-year-old girl to understand the complexities in your nature that made you behave in such a way. She needs to be with her mother and you have to let her go . . . for the time being anyway.’
‘Okay, Pats,’ he said sadly. ‘Okay.’
Jane was far more angry with Mick for hurting Pip than she was personally aggrieved when she heard her daughter’s story. Knowing Mick as she did now, she wasn’t really surprised.
‘Your father does care about us in his way, but he has a very peculiar view of life,’ she explained to Pip, hoping to ease her pain but at the same time wanting to discuss the subject with her honestly because she was an intelligent girl and advanced for her age. ‘Since he considers money and success to be the most important things in life, he thinks everyone else does too. It never occurs to him that some of us aren’t particularly impressed by these things and take people as they are.’
‘But to leave you struggling to bring us up on your own when he could have been there for you, and then to try to make you give up the business you’d worked so hard to build when he did come back!’ she said. ‘That isn’t a kind of caring that I can understand.’
‘It does take a bit of working out,’ said Jane. ‘Shame, guilt, a deep sense of inadequacy . . . all of them played their part. When you’re older you’ll be more able to understand. It’s all a bit sad really. Because your father was so serious about wanting to provide for us, he ended up not providing for us at all. He wanted too much and ended up with nothing.’
‘Oh.’
‘Then, when he was back in the money, he wanted to make up for letting us down because he was riddled with guilt. But by that time, I didn’t need anyone to provide for me and he found that impossible to come to terms with. I’d deprived him of his means of making amends and that’s what made him so angry.’
‘All he cares about is himself and being able to flash his money about!’
‘No. It’s much more complicated than that,’ said Jane. ‘Because deep down your father has such low self-esteem, he is an egoist.’
‘Why is he like that?’
‘I think a lot of it is due to the fact that his own father never took much notice of him,’ said Jane. ‘Your dad isn’t a bad man, he’s just misguided and has difficulty facing up to things. I know you’re upset, love, but later on you’ll see all this in a different light.’
‘I certainly don’t understand it now.’
‘One thing I do know for certain, though, Pip,’ said Jane with emphasis, ‘your father really does love you - very much. You were always the apple of his eye.’
‘I don’t want to have anything more to do with him.’
‘That’s a bit hard, love.’
‘What he did to you was hard.’
‘You mustn’t take that on board,’ advised her mother. ‘That’s between your father and me. Anyway, it’s all in the past and I think he’s probably suffered for it. Besides, you’ve enjoyed going to stay with him in Brighton.’
‘That’s true.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘Dad’s different when he’s with Patsy. He doesn’t show off or get angry all the time. He’s just . . . sort of ordinary.’
‘Perhaps he’s found someone he doesn’t feel the need to impress?’
‘Yes, that’s probably it,’ Pip agreed. ‘Patsy doesn’t care about money.’
‘Why not accept his faults and give him another chance?’ suggested Jane, because she thought Pip would lose so much if she ended her association with her father.
‘I don’t trust him any more,’ she said. ‘He’s proved that he’s a liar and a coward.’
‘What he did was wrong but if I can forgive him, so can you.’
‘I don’t feel as though I can, Mum,’ she said miserably.
‘He is your father, whatever he’s done,’ Jane reminded her.
‘At the moment, I wish he wasn’t,’ said Pip sadly.
Mick was devastated to have his relationship with Pip cut short. He telephoned and wrote to her in the hope of persuading her to see him but she didn’t even want to for five minutes, let alone spend the weekend with him and Patsy in Brighton.
‘Surely there must be something I can do to make her give me another chance?’ he said.
‘I think you should leave her alone and she’ll probably come round in her own time,’ said Patsy, with the clarity of an outsider’s view of the argument. She could understand why Pip had reacted as she had on learning the truth about her father. Mick had done wrong, there was no doubt in Patsy’s mind about that. But if you loved him you had to take him as he was - a man of many faults. That couldn’t be easy for a young girl like Pip.
Patsy was no expert on children but she did know that Pip loved her father very much. She hoped that that one redeeming fact would eventually override all other considerations.
‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ said Mick with an unhappy sigh.
The ending of his relationship with Pip made Mick feel as though the last link with his family had gone, and he couldn’t bring himself to call at Jane’s place when he was in London on business or to visit relatives.
Losing Jane and Davey was bad enough but Pip too ... that really was the final twist of the knife.
But something happened in the spring of the following year, something so terrifying that everything else was pushed to the back of his mind.
Chapter Twenty Four
Mick was standing at the bar in the Drake’s Arms one afternoon in spring, idly drinking whisky while he waited for Patsy to finish her shift, when Podge appeared beside him.
‘I guessed I’d find you in here at this time o’ day,’ he said, looking unusually grave, his big round eyes brimming with worry.
‘You know me, Podge, I always shut up shop for a couple of hours at lunchtime,’ said Mick, and went on to offer the other man a drink.
‘That’s very civil of you, mate . . . I’ll have a scotch.’
‘So, what nice little earners have you got for me today?’ enquired Mick as they waited for Podge’s drink to be served.
‘None, mate,’ he said, looking doom-laden. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Nothing?’ Mick paid Patsy for the drink and led the way to a table where the two men sat down. ‘Don’t tell me a hard-working burglar like yourself has been taking time off?’
‘I’ve had to, mate . . . had to. I’m gonna lie low for a while an’ all,’ explained Podge. ‘And so will you if you’ve any sense.’
‘Oh?’
‘That’s why I’ve come looking for you . . . to warn you.’
Mick looked at him, waiting.
‘Bristle Sharp has been arrested.’
‘Blimey!’
‘And even more worrying
. . . the Old Bill have taken Charlie Budd in as well,’ announced Podge, referring to a fence who dealt regularly with Bristle.
‘You reckon Bristle grassed on him?’
‘It’s obvious, innit?’ said Podge. ‘The cops have offered him a deal to help his own case and he’s singing like a bird.’
‘Mmm . . . it does look that way.’
‘They’ll be coming after us if he decides to give ’em more names,’ Podge went on. ‘So I should get shot of anything hot you’ve got stashed at the warehouse, sharpish.’
Mick’s heart raced and his skin turned cold with nervous sweat as he thought of the underground store beneath the floorboards in his office at the warehouse. It was full of stolen goods: stereo units, handbags, men’s leather shoes, jewellery. He tried to calm himself with the fact that it was well hidden under the lino. Surely the fuzz wouldn’t find it?
As though reading his thoughts, the other man said, ‘If they turn your warehouse over and you’ve got anything hidden, they’ll find it, mate. It doesn’t matter where it is . . . under the floorboards, up the chimney, in the roof. They know all the dodges . . . they’ll soon root it out.’
‘Oh, Gawd,’ said Mick, finishing his drink in one swallow. ‘I’d better get over there right away then.’
‘Wise man,’ said Podge. ‘The last thing any of us want is you banged up. You’re too useful to us on the outside.’
‘See you,’ said Mick.
‘Cheers,’ said Podge, but Mick was already on his way to the door.
Mick’s warehouse was situated in an industrial area just outside the town, between a small printing firm and a clothes factory.
So far as all but a select few knew, he ran a legitimate operation supplying small shops and market traders with stock. Some of these same customers also bought his illegal lines which they could buy cheap and sell at a high mark up because of the quality, but for which there was no receipt. Other takers for the stolen goods were street traders and those who pedalled their wares in pubs. Mick had gathered a lot of contacts since he’d been in Brighton and never had any trouble shifting stock. The bent gear currently in his underground store would all be sold within a week or two.
But where to store it until the heat was off? That was the problem filling his mind as he drove to the warehouse at high speed. His flat wasn’t an option because that would be the second place the police would look if they were on to him. He wondered if the landlord of the Drake’s Arms might oblige but didn’t think he’d be prepared to take the chance.
Turning the corner so that the warehouse came into view, his heart lurched at the sight of a police car parked outside. He was too late to move the gear; the fuzz were already inside. He could see from here that the door was swinging open. The buggers must have forced an entry.
He was trembling so much he had difficulty controlling the car as he made a hasty retreat, almost hitting another vehicle and causing other drivers to blast their horns angrily. He felt panic-stricken and alone, like a child lost in a crowd. Where could he go? His flat would be their next port of call so he daren’t go there. His first thought was Patsy. She would know what he should do. He was almost at the Drake’s Arms when he realised that that wouldn’t be safe either. Bristle was sure to have told the coppers where Mick did his drinking.
There was only one solution: he would have to leave the area. He thought briefly of going back to the flat to collect some clothes and leave a note for Patsy. But he daren’t risk it. If the cops came while he was there, he’d be trapped.
As the answer to his problems came to him, he headed for the London Road.
That evening, Jane and Pip were having a light supper together in the kitchen. Davey had gone to watch a football match with Kevin and his father and would be eating at their place afterwards. Giles had offered to bring him home in the car later on.
There was a loud and insistent ringing at the doorbell.
‘Mick,’ said Jane in surprise when she opened the door. ‘I wasn’t expecting you . . .’
Before she could finish the sentence, he pushed past her into the hall, body quivering, face ashen and suffused with sweat.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Where are the kids?’
‘Davey’s out, Pip’s in the kitchen having something to eat . . . why?’
‘I need to talk to you . . . in private.’
‘All right, there’s no need to be so aggressive about it.’ She went to the kitchen, put her head round the door and, forcing a calm tone, said, ‘Carry on without me, love. Daddy’s here. We’ll be in the living room if you need us.’
‘Okay.’
Jane turned to Mick and ushered him hurriedly into the living room at the front of the house.
‘So what’s all this about?’ she wanted to know, closing the door firmly behind her. ‘Why have you come bursting in here as though all the demons in hell are after you?’
‘Oh, Mick, you damned fool!’ she said later, shocked by his story which he’d only told her because he needed her help. ‘You’ve done some pretty silly things in your time but I never thought you’d be so stupid as to break the law.’
‘Okay, you can cut the lecture,’ he said, pacing up and down the elegant room, smoking feverishly. ‘And help me to find a way out of this.’
‘There’s only one way out of this so far as I can see,’ said Jane, standing stiffly with her back to the window, across which the burnt orange velvet curtains were already drawn.
‘And that is?’
‘Give yourself up.’
‘Are you mad?’ he said, voice ragged with tension. ‘You know what will happen if I do that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, you’ll go to prison.’
He was astonished by her attitude.
‘How can you stand there calmly telling me I’ll have to go to prison, as though it’s not much different from going down the pub?’
‘What else can you do but give yourself up, eh, Mick?’
‘I dunno yet but I’m not going to prison, it would kill me.’
‘Of course it wouldn’t,’ she said assertively. ‘You’re tough enough to get through something like that.’
‘You know I can’t bear to be locked up.’
‘You should have thought of that when you embarked upon a life of crime.’
‘You nasty, unfeeling bitch!’ he accused her venomously.
‘That’s right, Mick, do what you always do when you’re in trouble,’ she rebuked. ‘Hit out at someone else!’
‘Well, the least you could do is be a bit more sympathetic. ’
‘You don’t deserve sympathy,’ was her sharp retort to that.
‘Rub it in, why don’t you?’
‘I’m not trying to rub anything in,’ Jane denied. ‘I just don’t see what else you can do but give yourself up. Not unless you want to live the rest of your life in fear of the police.’
‘It’ll all blow over in a few days,’ he told her dismissively, perching on the edge of the sofa and extinguishing his dogend in an ashtray. ‘Finding me won’t be a priority for very long. The police have too many other things to do with their time, I should think. Anyway, if they don’t find the stuff at the warehouse, they’ll have nothing on me.’
‘Even if they don’t find it, they’ll nail you eventually,’ she said. ‘Now that they’ve been tipped off about your activities.’
‘You really know how to cheer a bloke up, don’t you?’ he said grimly.
‘I’m just trying to get you to face the facts. You must have known you couldn’t get away with it forever.’
‘Plenty of people do.’
‘More get caught, I should think,’ she said. ‘Frankly, Mick, I don’t know how you’ve slept at nights.’
‘When I first started dealing in hooky gear, I used to be scared, I admit it. But when I got away with it, time after time, it just became a way of life and I hardly ever thought about the cops,’ he said. ‘It was all so easy. I suppose
I did think it would go on indefinitely.’
‘And now you’re planning on hiding out here, I suppose?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You can’t.’
‘Oh, Jane,’ he said, sounding hurt. ‘I can’t believe you would turn me away at a time like this?’
‘And I can’t believe you would come here asking me to break the law,’ she countered. ‘Harbouring a criminal is an offence.’
He didn’t feel good about that, but any compunction was soon overruled by his strong sense of self-preservation.
‘But I don’t know where else to go,’ he said. ‘Help me, Jane, please?’
She sat down and ran a hand across her brow, biting back the tears.
‘The only way I can help you is to persuade you to go to the police,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it will act in your favour if you go to them before they get to you?’
‘I’ll still go down for a stretch.’
‘But you’ve had a good run, haven’t you?’ she said. ‘You’ve been breaking the law for years and getting away with it. You’ve done the crime, now you have to do the time, as they say. Start with a clean slate when you come out.’
‘Surely you wouldn’t really turn me away?’
‘I don’t know what else I can do,’ said Jane through trembling lips. ‘Giving yourself up will be the best thing for you in the long run. Anyway, when the police can’t find you in Brighton, they’re bound to come looking here.’
‘No one in Brighton knows this address,’ he said. ‘Not even Patsy. There was never any need for her to know it.’
‘They have ways of finding these things out,’ said Jane. ‘You don’t want your children to see you hounded by the police, surely?’
‘ ’Course I don’t.’
‘Then go to the nearest police station and give yourself up . . . now.’
‘No, I can’t do that.’
‘Oh, well, that’s up to you. You’ll have to leave here, though,’ Jane pronounced. ‘I’m not having the children involved in something like this. And if you care for them, you won’t want that either.’